Jack Be Nimble
by Luckless-Havisham
Summary: Women are being killed at an alarmin rate by someone called "Jack be Nimble". A mysterious girl with a frightening past arrives on Detective Alex Cross' door mat, running from a man called "Papa." Only Alex Cross believes Jack and Papa are connected.
1. Chapter 1

The night was so quiet, he was almost afraid to break in. The slightest noise could awaken the people inside, and he did not want that. At least, not yet. The night air was refreshing, being cold from the falling snow. It was odd to see snow in April, but then, this was Russia. It was such peaceful night in the quiet town, that he almost laughed. He thought about sticking around to see what the towns people's reaction would be to the nights events. But that would be to risky. He was to go in, get what he wanted, and leave. That was it.

Quietly, he pryed open the windo with a crowbar he had brought. It didn't make a sound, and neither did he as he climbed into the house. _Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, _he thought devilishly. He had always loved that rhyme.

Slowly, quietly, he walked through the house until he found what he was looking for. The woman was fast asleep, looking as beautiful as ever. Her long, dark hair was fanned out across her pillow. She wore nothing but a silk nightgown, which displayed her perfect curves and long legs to perfection. She looked so peaceful, like a godess sleeping on the clouds. There was no sign of her husband. Probably working late, the bastard.

He walked towards the bed. Pulling the knife out of his pocket, he crawled on top of the sleeping woman. She woke with a start, frightened by the sudden pressure. When she saw his face, she opened her mouth to scream. With a flash, he put the knife to her throat.

"Shhh," he whispered. "You might wake my baby. And we wouldn't want that, now would we?"

The woman's eyes narrowed. "Your baby? Where do you get that idea?"

He struck her, hard, across the face. "That should be my baby and you know it!" he hissed. "And I'm going to make you pay for taking it away from me!" He began to caress her soft, perfect skin. "Oh, yes," he said softly, as though talking to a lover. "You will pay. And I will take what's mine!"

The woman opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off by pressing his lips to hers. He ran his hands down her arms, legs, throat, something he should have been able to do months ago. But she had to go and ruin it. The woman would have screamed, but he still had the knife, and she knew he would use it.

When he was done, he said, "Don't think this is what I meant. I just had to get that out of my system. Did you really think you could get off the hook that easily? No, it's gonna be a lot worse."

Realizing what he meant, the woman pleaded, "Please, I'm begging you. Don't-"

"And I begged you to marry me, didn't I?" he snarled."But you had to run off with that bar tender!"

"You leave Peter out of this!" the woman yelled.

He hit her, harder this time. "I told you to be quiet," he hissed. "I don't want you waking my baby!" He hit her again. "And never say the name of that son of a bitch again! Do you hear me? Never, never, never!" With each never, he hit her, breaking her nose, knocking out a few teeth. He then hit her in the throat. As she cried out in pain, he struck her across the face again, hissing, "Shhh!"

He looked at the once beautiful woman, battered and bleeding. "Do you want to live, Ellie?" he asked. "You don't have to answer verbally. Just nod, yes or no." The woman nodded. "You do?" he said. "That's funny, cause, I wanted to marry you. I guess we don't always get what we want in life, do we?"

The woman's eyes widened as he raised the knife and pressed it to the left side of her neck. Ah, how he loved that look. Slowly, he cut into her flesh, watching the red blood gush out onto the white pillows. It was a beautiful sight.

Realizing now she had nothing more to lose, the woman began to scream. She was wrong. He quickly reached into her mouth, pulled out her tounge, and cut it off.

"I just can't get it through your pretty little head that I want it quiet," he said. "I hope my baby's smarter than you." The woman gave him one last hate-filled look, before the blood loss took it's toll and she closed her eyes for the last time.

"I'm sorry, Elyss," He said. "I did love you."

"Elyss!" A man's voice came from the doorway. The husband had come home. He casually got off the woman, then turned to face the husband.

"Hello, Peter," he said, mockingly. "Did you have a good day at work, you son of a bitch?"

:What did you do to Elyss?" Peter demmanded, staring at the body of his wife.

He swiftly walked up to Peter, and, without a sound, dug the knife deep into his throat. "You shouldn't have done that, Pete," he said. "You shouldn't have stolen my woman, my child."

Peter managed to choke out, "Damn you, you bastard," before he joined his wife in the after life. _Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, _he again thought.

Walking past the lifeless body, making sure to give it a little kick, he made his way to the nursury. The commotion had woken up his baby, damn it. He entered the room and made his way to the crib. Inside was a small baby, with soft dark hair and pale skin. Just like the mother.

"Shh, don't cry, my little one," he said, picking it up. "Shh, daddy's here." Softly, he began to sing, "Hush little baby, don't say a word…" Finally, the baby stopped crying. The baby's eyes opened, and a laugh escaped it's mouth. "Yes, you know who I am," he said, happy. "I'm your papa. And you're my little one. Oh, you are simply perfect.

Of course you are. You're _my_ baby."


	2. Chapter 2

Jack clung to his suitcase as though he would die without it. Which he would. The suitcase weighed a little over 100 pounds, but Jack pulled it with ease. The plan had worked perfectly. He had gotten his luggage on the plane without anybody noticing what was in it. All the way across the ocean, and the only witness to the suitcase's contents was a guard who now lay dead. By the time they had found his body, Jack was already in America.

It had been difficult to get this case to New York, but it was worth it. She had begged, and he would do anything for her. He had been careful in all his movements to protect her, to keep her from seeing things she shouldn't see, hear things she shouldn't hear. But he had to make sure she'd get there safe and sound. He loved her more than anything.

He had booked a hotel suit, so she could stay comfortably inside while he worked. And who knew, maybe he could find work for her to. He had some rope and a blindfold in one of his suitcases. And it shouldn't be hard to find some desprate or sleazy man here in America. Stupid American's. _Nothing but a bunch of sleazy, lazy good for nothing slobs_, he thought. But they would provide good work for her. And he wanted what was best for her. He loved her more than anything.

Jack hoped she wouldn't get restless. It would cause him a lot of problems if she were to get restless and try to go out. If someone saw her, talked to her, it would create a lot of problems for him. If he had any problems, he would have to punish her. Severly. And he didn't want to do that. He loved her more than anything.

Jack checked into the hotel and went up to his room. He carefully layed down the suitcase and said, "I hope you were comfortable on the journey. I know you were a little short on space." No response came. "Have you forgotten how to talk? All the silence must have driven you mad." Still know answer. "Answer me!" he bellowed. He didn't want to yell. He loved her more than anything.

An idea hit him, causing him to relax. I just can't hear her, or she can't hear me, he though. He carefully unzipped the suitcase saying, "I hope you were comforta-" He stopped as something rolled out of the suitcase. Weights. A little over 100 pounds in weights. He checked his bag to see if he had grabbed the right one. He had. She had escaped.

Anger welled up in Jack, his handsome face distorted by rage. He let out a roar, that, if anyone could hear it, sounded like a beast denied a meal. She was gone. She had tricked was loose, in this new country. He angrily pulled on his jacket, checking to see if the handcuffs were still in his pockets. They were. He would find her. He would find her, and bring her back. He would punish her severly first, but he would bring her back. He had to. He loved her more than anything.


	3. Chapter 3

Ch. 3

Washington D.C.

"Alex Cross, you come here this instant!" Nana Mama barked from what sounded like the front of the house.I got out of bed, half asleep, and pulled on a sweatshirt and sweats. For a moment I worried that Nana Mama would wake up the kids. But then I remembered that after almost 13 years of living here, Damon and Jannie had gained the ability to sleep through Nana's subtle calls, and Little Alex wouldn't wake if an a-bomb went off.

It was 6:30, and the sun had just started to rise over a snow covered Washington D.C. I had lived here almost all my life, having been raised by my grandmother since I was eight. I was a forensic psycologist, and while I claimed I had retired from police work, everyone knew I hadn't. I lived with Nana Mama, who helped me raise my kids ever since my wife had been killed 13 years ago. While the shooter had been killed by my partner, John Sampson, I still felt like I had to make it up to her. Maybe that's why I keep working on cases.

As I predicted, Nana was standing at the front of the house, right in front of the screen door. She was looking at something, but turned as I entered the room. "About time," she said. "I thought I was going to have to wake you the old fasioned way."

I shivered. "No frozen marbles, Nana. I could arrest you for cruel and unusual punishment." Nana cracked a grin, a grin I had known ever since my parents had died and she had taken me in. "So, what do you want?" I asked. "Or do you just feel like causing discord?"

"A bit of both," Nana teased. But then she looked back out the window and said, "Looks like the stork paid us a visit while we were sleeping, Alex. I went to get the milk, and found just a bunch of empty bottles and this." She gestured to something in front of the door. I walked over, looked, and gasped.

Asleep, on my porch, was a young girl. She seemed about 16, and by the light coming from the living room and the street lamps, I could make out that she had long jet black hair, over which she had a maroon ski cap, though it was not well made, and very pale skin.

"How long do you think she's been out there?" I asked Nana.

"About an hour, at most," Nana replied. "Judging by the fact the milk man didn't seem to notice her. And I don't think she's from around least not Southeast. And she's not dressed for the cold, either, Alex."

Quietly, I began to open the door. "Are you gonna wake her?" Nana said. "Why don't you let her sleep? If she was able to fall asleep on this porch, she must be tired."

"If we let her stay asleep, she'll never wake," I retorted. "It's to cold for that." Nana rolled her eyes, but moved aside. Slowly, I knelt down and gently shook the girl. She must not have been sleeping _that_ soundly, for she jumped up instantly, her deep blue eyes wide with fear.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm so very sorry." She had a thick Russian accent, and was slowly backing away. I saw she was wearing a dirty, worn plaid shirt, and a pair of torn jeans. Her sneakers had patches of duct tape on them, no doubt to patch up holes worn into them. Around her neck was a gold chain. She was covered with dirt, scratches, and, most desturbing of all, bruises and scars. Her nose looked as though it had been broken at least once, and she had a small bruise on the base of her neck.

"I'm extremely sorry," she said again, looking as though she wanted to cry.

"Sorry? What for?" I asked gently.

Looking deeply ashamed, she said, "I drank all your milk. I slept on your porch."

"Well, she certainly has a good sense of guilt," Nana said.

"Ignore her," I said to the girl. "I never said I was angry. In fact, I'm more worried as to why you were sleeping on my porch than mad. Why don't you come in and warm up? You look really cold." The girl slowly walked inside, a look of awe on her face. "So this is what a house looks like, " she muttered.

Curiously, I asked, "What do you mean?"

The girl again looked ashamed and said, "I've never seen the inside of a real house before."

I got the feeling the girl was homeless, but said instead, "Why don't you sit down and tell me your name." I pointed at a chair, and the girl obediently sat down. _She shows symptoms of physical abuse_, I thought. _Perhaps she lives with someone who needs to show dominance through abuse. She certainly is obedient. _"So, what is your name?" I asked again.

"Anette Lamberdin," she said quietly.

"Okay, Anette, where are you from?"

I heard Nana hiss, "Not so many questions!"

I turned to her and said, "Why don't you get Anette some cocoa, Nana? And maybe a slice of pizza."

"Pizza?" Anette asked. "What is pizza?"

"You don't know what pizza is, Anette?" I asked. Again she looked ashamed.

"Never had this "pizza," she muttered.

"Well, you're going to love it," I said warmly. I actually saw a slight smile grace her face, making her seem a lot prettier. "So, Anette, where are you from?"

It took her a moment to answer. "New York City. I remember New York City." It was an odd anwer, but I decided to ask her more about it later.

"How did you get here?" She didn't answer. "Anette," I asked again, "How did you get here?"

"I walked," she answered immediately. _She won't answer questions she doesn't want to answer unless her name is said, unless she feels she is commanded to_, I realized. _Definitly lived with someone who exercised dominance over her. _

"You walked?" I repeated. When she didn't answer, I said, "Anette,you walked?"

"Yes," she said.

Gently as I could, I said, "Anette, you don't have to answer these questions if you don't want to. I'm not commanding you to."

"But you say my name," she said. "And I was taught that meant I was supposed to answer."

"That's not how I work," I said. "If I ask a question, you don't have to answer, even if I say your name. I would prefer you did, though. So, was it a long walk?"

She was quite a moment, then said, "Yes, and cold. Very cold."

"Anette, do you want to ask me anything?"

She bit her tounge, then said, "What is your name, sir?" I laughed, realizing I had failed to introduce myself. "Sorry," she said.

"I wasn't laughing at you," I said. "I felt silly for not introducing myself first. My name is Alex Cross. Is there anything else you'd like to ask?"

"Are you hurt, Mr. Cross?" Anette asked.

"No, why do you ask?"

"Your skin is all dark," Anette said. "Mine gets dark when I'm hurt, so are you hurt, Mr. Cross?" _She's never seen a black person before_, I realized. _But, she said she was from New York_…

"No, Anette, I'm not hurt. I'm black. That's my race," I explained. "Just like your white."

"Don't worry," Nana said, bringing in the pizza and cocoa. "The good Lord will forgive you." Nana's racist and proud of it. I laughed, while Anette just looked confused.

Handing her the pizza, I said, "It's best that you eat it when it's warm. Cold pizza's not the best, though my son Damon would argue about that."

"You have a son, Mr. Cros?" she asked.

I nodded. "Two, Damon and Alex Jr." I answered. "And a daughter, Jannie."

Then Anette said the strangest thing I have ever heard a child say. "Does your daughter entertain your friends after a night of drinking, Mr. Cross?"

I looked at her, and I think my disturbance of being asked such a question clearly showed. "What do you mean by that, Anette?" Her eyes widened, and her mouth tightened. She seemed to shrink, looking down, blushing, and actually shaking a little. "Anette, why don't you answer me?"

Her voice came out, very small and weak. "I said something wrong."

I sighed and said, "I'm sure you didn't mean to. But what did you mean? Why would you think my daughter would 'entertain my friends'?"

She shook her head. "I don't want to answer that."

Truth be told, her behavior was starting to frighten me a little. Maria, my wife, had been a social worker, and since I was a psycologist, I had well been exposed to the behavior of abuse victims. But I had never seen behavior like Anette's. "Why not?" I asked.

She put the food and drink down and pulled her knees to her mouth. Tears had started to form, and I heard her say, "I don't want to be hurt, Mr. Cross."

I leaned forward. "Who would hurt you, Anette?" She just shook her head, and started to cry, muttering, "No more, no more."

Feeling bad about this, I tried to comfort her. "All right, all right. You don't have to tell me. I'm sorry I asked. Let's just forget I asked, okay." Biting her lip, she nodded. I picked up the pizza and handed to her. "Why don't you eat something? That might help."

Tentatively, she took the pizza from me and took a small bite. She perked up, and took another bite. Looking at me, she said, "It's good."

I laughed. "Yeah, it is good. It's not very healthy, but hey, it taste's good!"

At this, she looked alarmed. "It makes you fat?" she asked.

"If you eat to much of it," I answered. Then she did another strange thing. She put it down and sort of backed away, like it was a bomb. "Anette, what's wrong?" I asked.

Shaking her head, she said, "I can't gain weight. I can't. If I do, then…I just can't."

She was starting to panic, so I said, "One piece won't cause you to gain weight, Anette." Then, as I noticed how thin she already was, I asked, "Anette, how much do you weigh?"

"A little over 100 pounds." She answered as though it was nothing, but it was something. For her height – I guessed about 5'9'' – this was not healthy. I asked, "Anette, do you get enough to eat at home?"

She nodded. "Uh huh. I don't get hungry easily, so I don't eat much."

This concerned me, because I had a feeling this wasn't the whole truth, so I asked instead, "So what's your family like?"

"I live with my papa," she replied. "I think my mama died when I was little, but I can't remember. Papa doesn't like to talk about her much."

"No brothers or sisters?"

"No," she replied. "Just me and Papa."

"Do you ever get lonely?"

"Not really," she answered. "Papa's home a lot, and sometimes I would get a visit from Dem…" She trailed off, blushing again, looking very ashamed.

"A visit from who?" I asked, but she just shook her head, staring at her knees. So I asked, "Is your papa nice to you?" Here's where something interesting happened: she took a moment to answer, then _nodded_. She didn't say yes, and she didn't say know. She just nodded.

I wanted to know more about this papa, so I asked, "Where is your papa now? Does he know you're here?"

Anette answered, but it wasn't the answer I thought I'd get. "I hope not."

I wanted to ask her more, but decided that I probably wasn't going to get much more from her. Instead, I asked, "Do you have a place to stay, Anette?" She shook her head. "Tell you what. You can stay here until we find your papa, okay?"

She looked up. "You're going to try and find him?" There were three emotions in her eyes, clear as day: relief, fear, and confusion.

"Yes, I will," I said slowly. "I bet he's worried sick about you."

"Yes, he probably is," Anette muttered. "That's the problem."

Restraining myself from asking about her statement, I turned to Nana. "Can you take Anette to the guestroom, Nana?"

"Alex, are you sure about this?" she hissed.

Giving her a push, I said, "Of course I am."

Nana sighed, then said to Anette, "Come along. The guest room's just down this hallway."

As I watched her go, I wondered what could have driven a teen, the most obstinate age group of them all, to be so obedient and fearful. I wondered why she had run away, for I was fairly certain that's what she had done. And most importantly, I wondered what kind of a man this "papa" could be


	4. Chapter 4

As Nana took Anette down the hallway to the guest room, Damon staggard out of his room, almost bumping into them. Damon is 16, and almost as tall as I am, making him a little over 6' 4". He was here for the holiday's, but normally he's at his prep school in Massachusets. I admit, I miss him like hell when he's gone, and like to having him back, even if it's just for a few weeks. Gotta love Christmas break.

As Damon passed by Nana and Anette, he did a double take, nearly running into the wall. I knew he was looking at Anette, but I was still surprised for some reason when he asked, "Hey, dad, who's the hot chick?"

I don't know why it never hit me before, but I realized at that moment that Damon was now a teenage boy, whose hormones were telling him that it was worth risking cooties in order to have physical contact with a girl. I realized that he may prove to be a problem with Anette in the house. "Easy boy," I said. "It's not Christmas yet, so the girl is not for you."

Damon laughed and said, "Darn it. And that was on the top of my list for Santa to." We both lauged, before he said, "No, seriously. Who is she?"

"Her name is Anette," I explained. "Nana found her on the porch this morning. I'm letting her stay here until we can locate her father."

Damon craned his head, trying to get another look of Anette. "Yeah, well, it's a Christmas miracle. It's not every day a hot chick lands on your doorstep. I think I might start believing in Santa again."

Even though I knew he was half joking, Damon's words bothered me. "You be nice," I said, using my serious voice. "I get the feeling that girl is more than a little messed up, and not nessisarily for reasons that are her fault."

Damon looked back at me, and I could see that he to was serious. "You think she was abused or something?"

I nodded. "I don't want you asking her questions about that though," I said. "I already tried. You have to be careful talking to that girl. Say one wrong thing, and she shuts off."

"Weird," Damon said. Then he added, "Don't worry, I'll keep my distance." I could have hugged him I was so greatful.

Suddenly, there was a scampering of feet down the hallway. "Anette, come back!" Nana called from the guest room as Anette bolted down the hallway. Since Damon was still standing in the hallway, Anette ran right into him. The two fell – Anette landing on top, Damon on the bottom – with a loud _thud_!

I could hear both get the wind knocked out of them, along with a few other choice words being muttered. Anette muttered something angrily in what I believed to be Russian, while Damon muttered something in what was clearly English. "Hey, watch your tounge," I snapped.

"Sorry, sir," Damon said, somewhat sarcastically. He then grinned and looked at Anette. "Well," he said, "This is awkward."

Anette stared at Damon for a moment, as if deciding what action to take next. Then, so fast it almost made me jump, she leaped off of Damon, colliding with the wall. Her eyes were wide, and her skin even paler that usual. Standing up, she muttered, "I'm…sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry!" As she said this, tears began to form in her eyes. Before either I or Damon could say anything, she scurried off, back outside.

"What was that all about?" Damon asked, getting up.

"I told you," I said, "She's just a little messed up.

Damon gave me a skeptical look. "A little?" he said.

I sighed, rolling my eyes. "All right, a lot," I said. "And that's why I need you to behave. I really think she was abused, and I don't want you doing anything to set her off."

Damon looked hurt. "Why just me?" he asked.

"I'll give the same orders to Jannie and Ali," I said. "I'm just a little bit more worried about you."

Damon opened him mouth, then decided better of it. I was about to say something else to him, when the door opened again. Anette walked through, clutching a worn back pack. She paused for just a moment in front of Damon, before blushing and continuing down the hallway. As a thought struck me, I called after her, "Anette!"

She took a moment to respond. "Yes, Mr. Cross?" she replied.

"Would you like to clean up a bit?"

Another pause. "Clean…up?"

"Yeah, you know. Take a shower, wash the dirt off of you. That sort of thing."

"I…suppose. If it is all right with you."

"Of course it is, Anette. That's why I offered. Nana, can you show Anette to the bathroom?"

I heard Nana sigh. "I suppose so," she said. I turned back to Damon. "Why don't you get some breakfast or go back to bed? Why are you up so early, anyways?"

"Some of the guys and I were going to shoot some hoops," Damon said. "And if you want the good hoops, you got to get there early. That and your talking woke me up."

"Well, I apologize for that," I said, pushing him towards the kitchen. As he left, I heard the shower in the bathroom turn on. I stood in the living room for a moment, before yelling, "Hey, Nana, what's for dinner?"

"Ribs," she yelled back. "Why?"

"It all right if I invite Sampson over for dinner?" No, I did not find it strange that I, a fully grown man, was asking his grandmother permission to have a friend over.

"Sure, why not?"

Smiling, I went over to the phone, picking it up. I dialed a number, and listened as it wrang. "Hello?" a tired man's voice came.

"Sampson, it's Alex," I said.

"For Christ's sake, Alex, do you know what time it is?" Sampson asked, a slight annoyed tone to his voice.

I wasn't phased one bit. "Damon's up, so it can't be that early."

I heard Sampson chuckled. "All right, Brown Sugar. You got me there." I heard some rustling, and figured Sampson was getting out of bed. "What is it you want, Alex?" he asked after a moment.

"I was wondering if you and Billie wanted to come over for dinner tonight. We're having ribs."

"Alex, you know what my answer is going to be, every time," Sampson said. "Of course."

"Great," I said. We fell into an awkward silence for a moment. Then Sampson said, "Now, what is it you really want, Sugar?"

I chuckled slightly. Sampson knew me too well. "You going into work today?" I asked.

"Of course. Why?"

"I was wondering if you could check up on something for me."

"What?" There was a slight edge to Sampson's voice.

I sighed, and said, "When you go to the station, I want you to look up all runaway cases that have been reported in the last couple of days, or weeks even."

"Again, why?"

I hesitated, then said, "This morning we found a girl asleep on our front pourch. About 16, long black hair, ivory skin, and blue eyes. She wasn't dressed for the weather, and she was covered with bruises. She had never seen a black person before, John."

Sampson laughed slightly. "Well there's a crime, right there," he said. "What else is up with her?"

"Well," I said, "She's very obsessive about her weight, and she's already pretty thin. And here's where it get's strange, John. This girl is more obedient than our neighbor's dog. When you tell her to sit, she sits. When you ask her a question, she answers, even if she doesn't want to."

"Well now, that is strange," Sampson said.

"You're telling me," I said. "And if you ask her something that touches on a nerve, she shuts off. Just like that!"

"You thinking abuse or something?"

"I'm not thinking. I'm dead certain. That's part of why I wanted you to come over tonight. See for yourself. Tell you the truth, she's scaring me a little."

"Don't worry about it to much, Alex. She's with you now, which automatically makes her safe. _Very_ safe. What's this girl's name anyway?"

"Anette. Anette Lamberdin."

"All right. Did she say where she was from?"

"New York City," I answered. "But, truth be told, I think she might have been lying."

"Well, if she was, we'll find out," John said. "I'll look it up as soon as I get to work, all right, Sugar?"

I grinned. "All right," I said. "I'll see you and Billie tonight, then." With that, the conversation was ended.

As I turned back to the hallway to return to my room, I bumped into Anette. Her hair was sopping wet, so she must have just gotten out of the shower. She looked a lot better without all the dirt and grime on her. "Well, don't you look nice," I said brightly.

Anette looked at me, and again I was struck by how dead her eyes seemed to be. "I…look nice?" she repeated quietly.

I smiled. "Yes," I said. "Now I'm looking at a pretty young lady instead of a dust bunny."

I had said that in the hopes of making her smile. That didn't happen.

Anette stood there, her expression lost. I saw her mouth the word pretty several times. She looked as though she were remembering something.

"Anette," I said, concerned. "Are you okay?"

Her eyes widened, and I knew she was back to Earth. "No," she said, shaking her head. "No, I'm not pretty. I can't be pretty!"

I could tell she was about to have another episode. "Anette, what's wrong?" I asked, worry evident in my voice.

"I can't be pretty!" she gasped, her eyes filling up with tears. "I don't' want to be pretty!"

"Why not?" I asked. When she didn't answer, I said, "Anette, why not?"

She looked up at me, and her eyes were the saddest thing I had ever seen in my life. They had fear, so much fear in their gaze. "Because," she wimpered. "If I'm pretty, then I have to play. I don't want to play anymore, Mr. Cross." With that, she ran back into the guest room.

I stood there a moment, shocked at what had just happened. _I don't want to play anymore…_I had a bad feeling about what her definition of "play" was.

A hollowness formed in my stomach. I knew what it meant. Anger, only the purest and strongest kind. I hoped John could find something on this girl, because I wanted to find whoever she lived with. I wanted to make them pay, for putting such a look in that innocent girl's eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

So, sorry it's been so long since I last updated. I've been super busy.

If I haven't said this yet, I do not own the Alex Cross series.

Enjoy chapter 5, peeps.

* * *

The rest of the morning went off as I expected it to. Jannie woke up, noticed that we had a guest in our house, and proceeded to have the following conversation with me:

Jannie: Dad, who's the girl in the guestroom?

Alex: Her name is Anette. She'll be staying with us for awhile.

J: Where did she come from?

A: I'm not really sure, and I don't want you asking her.

J: Why is she just sitting there, staring at the wallpaper? It's not even that cool.

A: I don't know, and I don't want you asking her.

J: Why not?

A: Just 'cause.

J: Just 'cause why?

A: Just 'cause, Jannie! Now got get some breakfast.

Needless to say, I knew it was going to be very difficult to keep Jannie from sending Anette into a nervous breakdown. Ali, however, was a different story entirely. I didn't even know he was up until I heard him talking.

"So you were sleeping on our porch, and you drank our milk?" I heard him say. I quickly rushed to the guestroom to stop him. I stopped, though, when I heard Anette talk.

"Yes, I did. Are you mad at me?"

"No," I heard Ali say. "I just wanted to make sure. But I am a little sad that I can't have any cereal."

"Well, I'm sorry," Anette replied.

"Hey, lady," Ali said, "What's your name? My name's Alex Jr., But you can call me Ali."

"I'm Anette. It's nice to meet you, Ali."

I smiled as Ali tried to say Anette's name. He couldn't seem to do it. Finally, he just said, "Can I just call you Annie?"

I heard a giggle come from the room. It took me a moment to realize that it was Anette. "You can call me that, if you wish," she said. I was shocked at how warm her voice sounded. "That's what my papa calls me, after all. Annie."

I hated to do it, but I entered the room. Anette was sitting on the bed, as was Ali. "Hey there, Ali," I said, picking him up. "Why didn't you tell me you were up?"

"'Cause I was distracted by Annie," he said innocently.

"Well, I hope you weren't bothering her," I said, giving Anette a slight smile.

She shook her head. "Oh, no, Mr. Cross, he wasn't bothering me at all. He's a good little boy, very sweet."

I have to admit, I was surprised. This was the most I had heard Anette talk all morning. And the fact that she was being all warm and friendly just shocked the hell out of me. I guess she and Ali just clicked. He seems to have that affect on people.

"Well, that's good," I said, putting Ali down, "but I'm afraid Ali needs to eat breakfast now."

"Ah, do I have to?" Ali asked, giving me Bambi eyes.

"Yes, you do," I said, laughing slightly. "Besides, Nana's making your favorite. Bacon and eggs."

"Yay!" Ali cheered, running for the door. He stopped, then turned back to face Anette. "I'll come back to talk later, okay? After breakfast."

Anette smiled. "Okay," she said. Ali smiled back, then ran out of the room to the kitchen.

The room went quiet for a moment. Then I said, "Well, you two seemed to be getting along nicely."

"He's cute," Anette said quietly.

I nodded. "That he is." Anette started to say something, then closed her mouth. "What is it?" I asked.

"Is nothing," she muttered quietly.

"No, really, Anette, what were you going to say?"

Anette hesitated, then said, "Where is his matka?"

I blinked. "I'm sorry, Anette, his what?"

She blushed slightly. "Sorry. I don't always realize when I'm not speaking English. His mother. Where is his mother?"

I sighed, as this question brought up painful memories. "I'm sorry," Anette said quietly. "I shouldn't have asked. So sorry."

Looking back at her, I said, "No, no, you're fine, Anette. It's okay to be curious."

"That's not what my papa says," Anette said, somewhat grudgingly. "He gets mad if I ask too many questions."

"Well, I promise you I won't," I said, hoping to reassure her. "Anyway, to answer your question, Ali's mom lives in Seattle, Washington."

"Why does she live there? Doesn't she love Ali?"

"His mother's…not well. She needs some time to think, sort things out."

Anette was quiet for a moment, then said, "You think I'm not well, true?"

I frowned slightly. "What would make you say that, Anette?"

She shook her head. "Never mind, Mr. Cross. Forget I said anything."

I looked at her, sighed, then nodded. "All right, Anette. I will." I gave her a slight smile, then headed towards the door. "Oh, and Anette," I said, turning back to face her.

"Yes, Mr. Cross?"

" Some friends of mine are coming over for dinner tonight. Just thought I'd let you know." I gave her this information with the hope that she wouldn't panic when Sampson and Billie came over. Instead I seemed to have caused it to happen sooner.

Anette began to breathe very fast, and her eyes were wide. "Fr…friends?" she stuttered. "Frie…friends?! Friends coming over. Friends coming over. Friends coming over!!!" This last bit she screamed.

Rushing over to her, I said, "Anette, what's wrong?"

"Don't want to. Don't want to. Don't want to! Oh, god, I don't want to!!" She started sobbing. "No more. I no do it no more. No more for friends. No more for friends. Don't…don't want to! I no gonna…no…no… Zastav to, aby bylo zastavit, Bože, aby to zastavit!!!" She broke down in to tears, tearing at her hair.

Now, of course, I had no idea why she was panicking, or what the hell she said in whatever language that was. But I did know that something was wrong, and that I had to help her. "Anette, tell me what's wrong," I said, calmly as I could, placing a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. Just about the exact opposite happened.

"Don't touch me!" she screamed, quickly moving away from me, her eyes full of a fear I've never known. I stared at her a moment, an anger welling up in me so strong that I felt the need to break something. I wasn't mad at Anette though.

I stood up and quietly said, "Do you want me to leave, Anette?" She looked at me, tears in her eyes, and nodded. "All right," I said, walking towards the door. "Maybe you should rest for a while. You seem tired." She didn't answer me. Looking back at her, I saw it was because she had buried her face in her backpack, sobbing uncontrollably. I felt a lump form in my throat, and I left the room.

Walking into the kitchen, I saw four faces looking at me with concern. Obviously Anette's little episode had been heard by the whole block. "Alex…" Nana said, looking at me worried.

"Not…now, Nana," I said, trying to control my anger. I picked up a mug and tried to fill it with coffee, but failed as my hands were shaking too much.

"Dad, what's wrong?" Damon asked, a cautious tone to his voice.

I hesitated for a moment, then said, "I know what's wrong with Anette."

"What's wrong with Annie, daddy?" Ali asked, looking as though he might start crying as well. "Is she hurt?"

"No…Not exactly."

"Oh, for goodness sake, Alex. Just tell us what's wrong," Nana said sharply.

"I don't know if it's something I want the kids to hear."

"They'll find out eventually!" Nana barked. "So just tell us."

Staring into my coffee mug, I said slowly, "I don't know the specifics, who did it, how long they did, those sort of things, but I do know this: Annie's messed up for a reason." I looked at my family, and they could see the anger in my eyes. "Anette's been sexually abused. And by her behavior, I'd say a lot." Angry, I turned away from the others.

"Oh, Alex," Nana said, coming up and patting my shoulder. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," I said, remembering how she had screamed when I had touched her.

"Well, why don't you call a service or something?"

"Because I need more evidence that just what I have!" I snapped.

Nana stared at me a long moment. "No need to take it out on the rest of us, Alex," she said coolly.

I took a breath, then said, "I'm sorry, Nana. It's just…she won't talk to me. She won't tell me anything! All I said was that I had friends coming over, and she just panicked! I want to help her, but I can't when she won't let me."

"Alex," Nana said softly, "she may not want your help. For goodness sake, you just met her a few hours ago."

"I know," I said, still trying to calm down. "It just makes me mad that someone could do something to such an innocent girl and get away with it! It's not right!"

"That's just the way of the world, Alex," Nana said, giving me another pat on the shoulder before returning to the kitchen.

I knew she was right. I knew that life wasn't fair, and that it never would be. But that didn't mean I couldn't be mad. In fact, I wasn't mad, I was furious. As I stood there, hearing Anette's sobs echo down the hallway, I swore that I would find whoever was responsible for this. Because even though life wasn't fair, there was still justice. And finding the creep who had abused Annie and punishing him was the greatest form of justice I could think of.

* * *

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